The Boy of Fallacy
by Butterbeer8
Summary: Harry was taken by the Malfoys when his parents were murdered and brought up as their own. But when Harry learns of the circumstances of his upbringing, he forsakes his ties with the only family he's known. And yet when Voldemort returns, Harry struggles to accept his family as his enemy.
1. Flawed Hopes

**_The Boy of Fallacy_**

 **Chapter One**

 _Flawed Hopes_

She tended to the flower beds that lined the pond, while her two sons frolicked about the rear of Malfoy Manor. Though it was just the start of autumn, the weather was pleasant with white clouds sailing across a pale sky. A breeze accompanied the weather, blending in nicely with the subtle warmth of the sun that peeked out from every other cloud that passed.

The weather was much too nice today, luring out Narcissa and her children from the large manse. The beginning of autumn had brought a copious amount of rainfall, leaving her and the boys shut in the manor for days on end. And although the manse was massive, it was not enough to sate the energies of two seven-year-olds'.

Narcissa had her wand in her hand, casting a charm, pulling weeds out and cleaning the flower beds. Her head snapped up when her ears were met with childish laughter. Past the sprawling garden grounds, she saw her sons, Draco and Harry each taking turns with their toy broomstick.

The playful twosome elicited an affectionate smile from Narcissa. Pausing her gardening, the blonde woman could not help but watch the boys, innocently fly around the grounds.

She relished moments like this, wanting to soak in every chance she got to enjoy their naivety and innocence, especially Harry's.

Despite being brothers, Draco and Harry could not look more different from each other. Harry in particular, carried no physical trace of relation to any of the Malfoys. And there was a reason for that.

Draco was the epitome of a Malfoy. He was often told by several people, family, friends and strangers how he was practically a small shadow of his father, Lucius. Draco had inherited the silvery blond hair, lithe frame, sharp features and grey eyes. He was a Malfoy, there was no evidence arguing that.

But Harry's looks completely betrayed the Malfoy aesthetic. Like his brother, he was pale and thin but a tad shorter, though not by much. His hair was not sleek nor fair and never was it tame. Instead it was black and endlessly tousled. And the differences did not stop there. Harry's eyes were a striking green, even noticeable behind a pair of circular glasses. Though the most recognizable, physical trait that Harry had was the unusual scar on his forehead. It was just above his right eyebrow, mimicking the form of a lightning bolt.

In the past Harry had wondered why he looked so different, since it was so obvious. Lucius and Narcissa simply told him that he inherited traits from ancestors. And the origin of the scar remained hazy, only being fed the vague explantation that Harry was a "rambunctious" baby, which was unsupported by Harry's even-tempered nature. He had a lot of energy, sure but he had always been calm, introspective even.

Even though she had raised them for six years, Narcissa and her husband could not miss the unnerving differences in the two boys' appearances. But that did not mean Narcissa loved one more than the other.

Whenever she became lost in blissful adoration of her two sons, along with it came the dark, foreboding possibility that Harry would be snatched from her.

Harry was not her son. Not by blood, but she saw him as such just as much as Draco was. Neither boy knew the truth of Harry's lineage. And Narcissa wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible, despite the futility of it. Naturally she would have liked to have been honest with Harry about the truth, but the circumstances would not allow it; it would only shatter everything.

Harry's biological parents were murdered when he was just a year old by a dark wizard. The very wizard her family supported. Harry, suddenly orphaned was taken in by Lucius.

Narcissa's blood ran cold suddenly; expression growing grim as her thoughts detoured into a happy yet dour memory.

 _"_ _He will return, dear," her husband's cold, clipped voice told her as he handed the sleeping baby into her arms._

 _Taking the child, she needn't ask who it was. Her eyes befell the newly, carved scar and she knew instantly. Admittedly Narcissa was reluctant when she took the baby. To her it spelled trouble and was traitorous, but her heart ached with compassion for the child, whose future changed within a night, and barely into the world._

 _"_ _And when he does, the boy will be his—"_

Narcissa tore herself back to the present, wanting to suppress her husband's words from her mind. The only good that came out of the memory was that Harry was brought into her life, and has had six wonderful years with him in her life so far. But in the back of her mind, each day there was a lingering fear that clutched at her heart that Harry would meet the fate that he did not deserve. She could not bear for it to happen, she wouldn't let it happen.

As the years went by, Narcissa worried more and more for the future. She didn't know how much longer Harry had left with them. It was a thought so vile it made her nauseous.

Suddenly feeling distressed, Narcissa went back to tending to the other flower beds, wanting to distract herself from unbidden thoughts, but not before stealing a glance at her sons once more. The sight before her remained the same as it was a minute before, enough to sate her worries.

Draco and Harry had taken a break from the toy broom, now both relaxing on their backs. Their heads lay in their hands for support as the two watched a small bird, sculpted from parchment, bewitched to fly, glide above them.

The bird was not so graceful even with magic, stumbling in the air by the slightest of winds.

"Stupid thing," Draco muttered with mirth.

Harry grinned in agreement. "Not much of a Snitch," he said, referring to the role the bird played in their game of "Quidditch". Of course it was nothing like the wizarding sport as they only had one broomstick, which was a toy and only hovered about two feet from the ground, and merely floated through the air than soar.

"Nope," Draco concurred, still watching the paper bird, flutter its wings in a fruitful effort to stay in flight. "I wish we had a real Snitch, and a proper broomstick…"

"Yeah," Harry sighed, now ignoring the bird and watching the clouds sail across the sky.

A pause grew between the boys as they continued to stare off into the sky.

"Harry what spot would you play?" Draco asked after a moment, looking over to his brother on his left. "You know in Quidditch."

Harry glanced at Draco briefly then returned his gaze to the clouds. "Doesn't matter to me, really. Doubt I'd make a good Seeker, though, with these." Harry wiggled his glasses.

"That shouldn't stop you," Draco encouraged. "The Seeker for Ireland wears glasses, well…bewitched ones, but he can still spot the Snitch."

Harry smiled in appreciation. "I know," he sighed.

"Either Keeper or Seeker for me," Draco went on, answering his own question. "Suppose I can't really say yet, though, since neither of us have gotten to play with a real broom yet."

"One day," Harry sighed.

"You sound like Mum," Draco replied with a yawn. "But suppose you're right. If I ever got my hands on one, I'd fly it for hours." His eyes began to droop as he continued to watch the clouds ghost across the sky.

Harry grinned in agreement. "Me too."

Again silence stretched as Harry and Draco found themselves getting drowsy. Draco was nearing sleep, whilst Harry managed to remain awake, though he was not far behind his brother. Though before Harry could fall asleep, he heard a whisper, so faint in the breeze but audible for him to take notice.

He sprang up, eyes furrowed in confusion. Draco remained asleep on his back beside him, not having heard a thing. Looking down at his brother, Harry thought it was the blond boy who made the noise.

Scanning around, Harry's eyes swept past the garden. Catching sight of the toy broom, the pond, his mother still tending to her flower beds and a pair of large, nervous eyes, poking from behind a tall hedge near a large tree.

The pair of eyes blinked, watching Harry. Startled at first, Harry realized it was their newest house elf. Dobby was the name, if his memory serves him right. Why was the thing just staring at him, though?

Dobby had been with the Malfoys for a month now, arriving towards the end of summer. But in that time, neither Harry nor Draco really interacted with him, only their parents and other hired help.

The elf looked so pitiful the way his bat-like ears drooped in trepidation and large eyes quivered with nerves. Harry couldn't blame the elf for being so edgy.

He recalls an incident after Dobby's first week at the manor, when the elf made the mistake of spilling tea on his father's cloak. Dobby was always so jittery to begin with the accident only amplified it. Lucius did not respond with remorse nor forgiveness but anger. The man swatted the elf's face with his black cane, demanding Dobby to not only clean up the spill, but recover his cloak, amidst threats if the elf did not comply.

Harry's chest seized with sympathy for Dobby. He only saw the elf around the manor but rarely stuck around long enough to see him at work. But he knew that Dobby was not treated the best, judging by its demeanor and bandages wrapped around various parts of its body.

Harry couldn't help but offer Dobby a smile, and a little wave from afar. Dobby's ears raised before he turned his head around to see if there was anyone else watching them.

Dobby appeared to have relaxed a tad bit, but his ears lowered once more. He did end up returning Harry a very, nervous smile, which vanished in a flash, as did the elf himself.

Harry got up slowly, wondering why the elf disappeared behind the hedge. He knew he probably shouldn't but a part of him wanted to try and talk to Dobby, show him a bit of kindness.

Harry abandoned his brother and their broomstick. The boy pursued the spot Dobby fled and to his surprise still found him there.

Once again Harry and Dobby locked eyes, but this time Dobby looked frightened.

"Oh—no," Harry began. "I'm not going…I just wanted—"

"Young Master M…M…Malfoy," Dobby said, stammering at the name. "W—was there anything you n—needed?"

Harry tried to smile, shaking his head. "No. And I'm Harry, just Harry is fine."

"I'm fully aware of who you are, sir," Dobby whispered.

"I thought to say hi," Harry explained. "You've been here for a while now, and I haven't really said anything to you."

"Elves do not speak with the members they serve unless they are given an order," Dobby told him. "It's not unusual, young mast—Harry…"

"Oh…" Harry intoned. "I guess…I never knew."

"I'm sorry, if I frightened you earlier," Dobby said suddenly.

Harry smiled. "You didn't. I just saw that you were here, and…"

"Your kindness is met with my utter gratitude," Dobby said, nodding his head curtly. "I did not mean to impose on your privacy."

"I hope I'm not imposing," Harry said. "I wanted meet you—"

"There's no need," Dobby interrupted. "As I said before, I know who you are, as does the rest of the wizarding world. You're famous."

Harry cocked a brow in befuddlement. Were house elves meant to flatter you?

"You don't know do you?" Dobby's next words robbed Harry from his reverie.

"What?" Harry probed. "What don't I know?"

Perhaps the elf was crazy. Maybe that's why he and Draco were told to leave him be.

Dobby looked at him incredulously, making Harry all the more eager to understand what he was implying.

Dobby averted Harry's gaze. He twiddled his spindly fingers, staring at the bandages, although debating something in his mind.

Harry noticed Dobby's hesitation and took a step forward, which Dobby responded with a step back.

"If it's a secret," Harry began. "I won't tell anyone else."

Still he was met with silence and Dobby looked a bit panic stricken now. But the elf did open his mouth as though ready to reply but was interrupted suddenly.

"Dobby?" came a third voice.

Dobby's ears perked up, his eyes looked past Harry, as the boy whirled around to find his mother standing behind them, with Draco not too far off staring with pulled brows.

"My husband is due to return in a few hours," Narcissa spoke to the elf. "I suggest you head to the kitchen and assist with preparing supper." The blonde woman spoke with terse authority.

Dobby merely bowed. "Yes, Mis—mistress Malfoy." He turned a heel and apparated with a resounding pop that echoed faintly in the empty air.

Narcissa walked over to where Harry stood, her demeanor lightening. "Harry was Dobby bothering you?"

Harry shook his head vigorously in response, hoping that he didn't get Dobby into any trouble. "He wasn't. We ran into each other, that's all."

To Harry's relief, Narcissa seemed to have believed him. "Alright then," she sighed. "Supper should be ready in a few hours. Until then you two can continue to play in the gardens." Her eyes darted between Harry and Draco's faces.

Both boys nodded, and with a parting smile, their mother turned a heel and went back to her flower beds.

"Oi, what were you really doing with the elf?" Draco asked once Narcissa was out of earshot.

"I just wanted to say hi to him," Harry answered hastily.

"Hi?" Draco asked in disbelief. "Why?"

Harry shrugged as he and Draco marched along the garden to where their broom lay forgotten. "I saw him by the hedge. I don't know…I feel kind of sorry for him."

"Sorry for Dobby?" Draco replied.

"Yeah. I mean have you noticed the bandages? I worry that Dad might be too hard on him." _And he seems to know something about me…_ Harry mused inwardly.

"It's none of our business really," Draco elucidated. "Remember Mum and Dad said we shouldn't talk to him. His place is to serve not be our friend. Was wondering where you'd run off to when I woke up."

"Jealous that I found another playmate, one that stays awake?" Harry chided.

Draco wrinkled his nose, playfully. "Jealous of an elf? You're mad. C'mon, my turn on the broom."

Harry chuckled, allowing himself to relax after the encounter with Dobby. Though his curiosity of what Dobby knows was not abandoned, and continued to linger throughout the afternoon.

* * *

Not long after Harry and Draco resumed their game of pretend Quidditch, the sky darkened quickly. And just as quick as the clouds came, rain began to shower almost instantly. Narcissa and the boys all retreated indoors and by evening the rain carried on, plundering at the windows of the manor.

Dinner was slowly approaching as was Lucius's return from the Ministry. Harry had not seen Dobby since their encounter at the garden. He tried to busy his mind with fun games with Draco, but they all grew bored too quickly.

So now as they awaited the arrival of their father, the two boys sat by the fire in Lucius's den. They were huddled together wrapped in a thick fur, and a large tome opened before them.

Narcissa oversaw the dinner preparations as she did every night. As it was only her and her family, it was never too formal. And despite having a house elf and some hired help, Narcissa often assisted with making dinner. And as she set the table, Dobby entered the dining room with a bow.

"Mistress Malfoy," he said curtly. "Master Lucius has arrived."

"Thank you, Dobby," Narcissa said, albeit impassively.

And no sooner than the announcement of his arrival, the black yew doors in the foyer opened, inviting the sound of the brewing torrent outside. The doors shut, blocking it out once more and the whole manor became quiet.

Harry and Draco had their heads turned in the direction of the sound, wordlessly informing them that their father has returned home.

"Good evening, Narcissa," Lucius said, entering the dining room to find his wife there.

"Welcome home, dear," she replied with a smile. "How fares the Ministry?"

Lucius ghosted over to his wife, the tap of his black cane, echoing in the room. "Same as ever," came his bored response. "A couple more arrests were made today, though. More assault on Ministry officials."

"Same as ever, as you say," Narcissa said wryly.

"And just before coming here," Lucius went on coolly. "I paid a quick visit to Azkaban."

Narcissa's stomach gave an awkward lurch. Struggling to swallow the sudden lump in her throat, "Oh?" was all she managed to say.

"Merely to update some old friends," Lucius replied.

Narcissa knew what he meant. Lucius visited the Death Eaters from the first war, giving them any sort of information regarding the Dark Lord. Thankfully over the past couple of years since the events, hardly any sort of news of Voldemort was detected.

"Of course there's still nothing to report," Lucius went on, clicking his tongue.

As of now, most of the Death Eaters had disbanded. Some like her husband evading Azkaban using the alibi that they had been Imperiused to serve. Others, however were incarcerated, like her sister, Bellatrix.

Those who were imprisoned, some, Lucius remained in contact with, others condemned him for his betrayal. However, none knew that she and Lucius had Harry. And it remained that way. Lucius would never reveal his intentions with Harry for he wanted to be the one to reveal it to Voldemort himself, if the dark wizard ever resurfaced. Narcissa, of course kept it a secret due to her wanting to protect Harry.

"And how's Bellatrix?" Narcissa asked, suddenly, wanting to stray the conversation into a different route.

"I didn't stop to chat with her, but upon passing by, she's as loony as ever," Lucius answered.

Narcissa offered her husband a tight smile in response.

"Where are the boys?" Lucius said, much to the relief of Narcissa at the sudden change in subject.

"In the den," Narcissa told him.

"Dobby!" Lucius's voice called in the room. And with a pop, the elf appeared out of thin air, bowing before the patriarch.

"Master Malfoy," he said.

"Let the boys know it's supper," he ordered, not casting a look at the elf.

And just as quick as the elf arrived, Dobby Apparated into the den, summoning both Harry and Draco for dinner.

The boys, slammed the tome shut, Draco picking it up and putting it back in its proper place in the shelf. Harry lingered waiting for his brother only to be suddenly challenged to a race.

"Race you there, Harry!" Draco called out over his shoulder, scurrying out of the den.

Harry dropped the fur he had been sharing with Draco and ran out of the room.

Forgetting that Dobby was still in the room, Harry ran right into him, knocking the elf off his feet.

"Excuse me, Dobby," Harry said in a hurry, offering a hand to the elf.

Dobby picked himself up without Harry's help, eyes averted. Harry felt guilty then. Now Dobby was even more scared of him.

"Dobby?" Harry said after a moment of silence, the race between his brother swept from his mind. "Um…sorry about earlier."

Dobby remained anchored to his spot, but remained tense.

"I didn't mean to distract you from your work," Harry said. "And I hope I didn't get you into trouble."

More silence filled the air, before Dobby finally, spoke, voice brittle. "T—thank you, s—sir."

Harry smiled. "I'll be seeing you then," he said, skirting past Dobby and heading into the hall before he halted in his tracks.

"'Tis true what I say earlier," Dobby's voice said, softly.

Harry whirled around, brows pulled together. "What did—?" But Dobby was gone.

* * *

Harry didn't bother searching for Dobby. He didn't understand what the elf was going on about. Nor did he know what part of their conversation earlier did Dobby claim to be true.

He entered the dining room, finding that Draco had arrived already, taking his normal seat. At the head of the table, his father Lucius sat listening to whatever Draco was telling him. Narcissa was the first to notice Harry's arrival, turning to face him from her seat.

Harry sat next to Draco and Lucius broke his conversation with his other son to address Harry.

"Late for dinner, Harry," he said calmly. "Unlike you. Not feeling ill, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Dad. Just…went to the loo."

"You sure you're not unwell?" Narcissa probed. Harry simply nodded.

Dinner wore on and Harry remained quiet. Though, normally less talkative as his brother, Harry would still take part in conversation with everyone at the table.

But this night, was different. Harry continued to ponder what Dobby was referring to and what the elf knew that he didn't. He suspected that maybe elves, although meek liked to indulge in pranks and lies. He didn't know much about the species, truthfully.

And when Dobby would enter the dining room to refill Harry's parents' glasses, Harry tried to get eye contact with the elf, but Dobby's eyes remained fixed elsewhere.

This was noticed by Lucius. "Harry, something the matter?"

Harry's green eyes locked onto his father's. "No."

"You're a tad quiet tonight, any reason why?" Lucius cocked his head to the side, awaiting Harry's response. And during that time, Harry caught sight of Lucius's grey eyes briefly flicker to Dobby who was taking Draco's empty soup bowl, before flashing them back to Harry.

"I guess just a little tired," Harry shrugged, the lie dripping off his tongue smoothly. "Spent the afternoon outside," he went on casually.

"I heard," Lucius replied. "Draco told me of your game of Quidditch, or attempt at it."

"Yeah, we took turns on the broom." Harry returned his gaze back at his plate, occasionally turning to look at the members of his family.

Dobby chanced a glance back at Harry, a mixture of pity and sadness on his elvish face.

* * *

After dinner, Lucius and Draco spent a bit of time together in his den. Harry knew it had something to do with dark magic. Their family was an advocate of the Dark Arts.

Harry on the other hand, wasn't keen on that type of magic. If anything he felt a natural aversion from it. He recalls taking a trip to Knockturn Alley with his father and just felt generally spooked by the shops and people.

He always felt that Lucius would be disappointed or feel shame that one of his sons did not tolerate dark magic but much to his surprise the man only encouraged the aversion.

 _"_ _If it does not suit you, then that's perfectly fine," he'd say. "We all are drawn to what we like and repelled by what we don't. Everyone's different."_

Narcissa agreed with this conclusion and for the most part Harry remained at ease about everything. But he couldn't help but feel a tad jealous that Draco and Lucius had something that brought them to bond more. Not like he didn't but sometimes he craved his father's attention but was always more subdued and quiet about it.

The evening eventually wore on and the tempest outside continued to plummet the manor with heavy rain and gusts of wind. The weather seemed to have an effect on the family as everyone grew drowsy and soon it was nearly time for bed for Harry and Draco.

The boys had already said goodnight to Lucius and Narcissa entered Draco's bedroom where both were sitting on Draco's bed, talking.

"Came to say goodnight," the woman said with a smile.

Harry hopped off his brother's bed, whilst the blond boy received a kiss from Narcissa.

Both Narcissa and Harry turned to leave the room as they made their way to Harry's own room. He got into his bed and like Draco was given a kiss from his mother.

"Goodnight, Harry," she said, lingering by the door.

Harry reclined on his back, removing his glasses and placing them on his bedside table. "'Night, Mum," he said, sleepily.

And Narcissa shut the door behind her. Another pleasant day, ending with a pleasant night. Like her husband said, there still remains nothing to report on Voldemort's whereabouts. And deep down Narcissa hoped that there would never be any news and with years gone without a peep or sighting, she felt as though her secret prayers were being answered.

She walked down the corridor, with a new hope in her heart.

But the peace of ignorance would not last forever.

* * *

A/N: Not much happening yet, but some insight to this story. This is an AU but I will try to have this story follow as much of the canon plot as I can. The difference being that Harry's upbringing and relation to the Malfoys will play parallels into the main story and serve as conflicts. And because Harry was raised by the Malfoys in this story, the Dursleys don't exist, but may get a brief mention down the line.


	2. The Rest Left Unsaid

**Chapter Two**

 _The Rest Left Unsaid_

The first time Harry felt an odd twinge in his scar was when he was ten.

His eyes peeled open, hitting darkness. He suddenly remembered that he was asleep, still in the middle of the night in his bedroom. He stared at the black ceiling above him, reeling from the dream that he just woke from.

In this dream, he was staring at a woman with red hair and eerily similar eyes to his, almond-shaped and green. She was smiling but Harry could not miss the distress behind her soft eyes. She was whispering to Harry but no sound came out, however the woman continued to speak and nod as though Harry comprehended everything she said.

Yet her words evaded his ears. The red haired woman did not pose as a threat, but rather a protector. Though, Harry had never seen this woman before, he felt a connection to her, a tie that held strong.

The dream then ended with a flash of green light. And that's when Harry awoke.

Stirring in his bed, Harry noticed that his heart was beating in his chest fast. He squinted in the darkness, trying to erase the blackness of his room, despite the fact that even with light, he'd need his glasses, which rested on his nightstand.

He shut his eyes once more as though trying to summon the dream once again but nothing came. He reached to rub at his bleary eyes and was surprised to find it moist. And the dampness did not stop there; they had trailed down his cheeks and onto his pillow where there was a noticeable damp spot.

Had he been crying? His cheeks were still wet, and sticky but Harry was at a lost as to how and why. He had gone to bed fine, and dry eyed, but now awake in the middle of nightfall.

His musings faded suddenly when he felt an odd prick in his forehead. On instinct, the boy reached out to the source, which happened to be his scar. It was like an uncomfortable sort of itch, as though coming from inside. As he rubbed it to subside the itch, Harry noticed how warm that part of his head felt. The other side of his forehead was fine, cool. But right where his scar was carved remained warmer than the rest of him and pricked with irritation.

Rubbing his scar to rid himself of the irritation, Harry's mind wandered back to the red haired woman. It was not the first night he had dreamt of her but this dream in particular was the only time he had woken up crying. He didn't understand what it meant. A part of him felt worried for her despite her being a stranger, and possibly someone who does not exist.

He remained on his back, encompassed in darkness, waiting to fall asleep again. Ignoring the constant pricking of his scar, Harry wondered if he'd dream about the woman this time, and what that blast of green light meant.

Eventually the boy fell back asleep; the woman seemingly absent from his dreams.

* * *

The following morning, Harry's scar felt normal, unlike the previous night. Yet the dream that accompanied such an odd sensation never left his mind. He pondered more about whether the green flash of light was what caused his forehead to burn.

The dream kept him in a daze even during his outing with Draco and Narcissa as they all ran errands together.

"One more stop, boys," Narcissa said, leading her sons through the throngs of people along the cobbled pavement of Diagon Alley. Like normal, the high street was packed with witches and wizards, popping in and out of practically every shop they passed.

Their journey took the three of them up the streets, towards a large white building write in the center, sitting between two separate cobbled paths. The wizarding bank Gringotts was there final stop for the day.

Ascending in haste up the alabaster steps, the trio's energies were dwindling fast. Having arrived in Diagon Alley around lunchtime, which was the peak time for business. The throngs of people made it an obstacle maneuvering easily on the streets.

Pushing past the bronze doors, Narcissa was relieved to find the bank not as busy as the shops were. There were only a few patrons here and there, and the rest being the goblins that worked there.

Narcissa made her way towards the very end of the long hall, which was flanked by counters, a goblin at each till. Her heels echoed and bounced into the high ceiling, earning the side glances from the goblins.

Harry and Draco followed behind. Harry kept his eyes ahead but when he did turn his head, he caught a few goblins staring in his direction in particular. Their black eyes watched him but their faces remained a scowl of indifference.

Narcissa stopped before the main desk at the back, clearing her throat. The head goblin there, had stacks of Knuts he was counting when behind his spectacles his dark eyes leered back.

"Madam Malfoy," his voice croaked, taking a Knut and placing it on top of the counted stack. Harry couldn't help but stare at the goblins hands. His fingers, long and spindly and nails like talons. Goblins did irk him, if he was being honest. He rarely ever went to Gringotts but whenever he did with his family, the reception was more or less the same when it came to the workers.

Lucius and Narcissa even, were both vocal about how they felt about goblins; didn't trust them. Harry never understood why his family and his father especially spoke so ill about creatures like elves, goblins and Muggles, even. But goblins were mostly impassive, civil at least though there at times appeared to be traces of contempt for wizards.

Today, however, with most eyes on him, Harry felt especially unnerved.

"I'd like to make a deposit," Narcissa told the goblin, coolly, pulling out a pouch of what Harry knew to be Galleons.

The head goblin, looked away from his stack of Knuts and with his animalistic hand, gently took the pouch from Narcissa. "Very well," he said, taking the Galleons out to count them, a compulsive habit for most goblins.

He counted them quickly and restored the pouch with them. The head goblin returned his attention to Narcissa, as though ready to speak. He turned to briefly see Draco and then faced Harry, where his baleful eyes remained for a moment longer.

Harry leaned back, brows raised, failing at trying to look indifferent. The head goblin tapped his long nails on the marble counter, a hint of a smirk on his small mouth, just enough for Harry to see the small rows of sharp teeth there.

The head goblin turned back to Narcissa. "And which vault would you like these to go to?"

"The vault of Lucius Malfoy," the woman told him.

The goblin gave a nod, his hand tightening around the pouch. "It will be done, Madam Malfoy."

Narcissa mimicked the gesture with a nod of her own.

"Was there anything else you'd like to deposit?" the head goblin inquired. There was a sliver of mock concern there.

Narcissa raised a brow, the tone in the goblin's voice not lost on her ears. Draco too, looked confused, while Harry was merely curious.

"Those will be all today," the blonde witch said. "I've nothing else for you."

The head goblin's face held some humor to it now. The smirk was still there but less subtle. "I see. And just a reminder as it is part of the Gringotts code of security: anything at all that you'd like to keep hidden," he paused then and his eyes peered at Harry. "Gringotts will keep it safe and undetected," he finished, then looked away from Harry.

Silence filled the air. Harry's brows pinched in befuddlement, wondering whether there was more to what the goblin was saying.

And unbeknownst to them all, a few nearby goblins were listening in comprehension.

Narcissa's composure remained the same, albeit her eyes narrowed at the goblin. And without another word, not even a word of thanks, Narcissa turned away, murmuring for Draco and Harry to follow.

Draco was the first to follow their mother. Harry turned a heel, but caught the eyes of the head goblin once more and the ghoulish grin on the banker's face, until he fled after his family out of the bank and back on the streets of Diagon Alley.

"Goblins are weird," Draco muttered to Harry, a look of distaste on his face.

"Yeah," Harry intoned, his attention on deciphering the goblin's words to no avail.

"Ready to go home?" Narcissa asked, turning to her sons. Draco and Harry gave a weary nod, ready to leave the packed and bustling high street. And as they turned back down the cobbled path they came, the goblin's voice echoed in his ears and the memory of its black eyes was proving hard to forget.

* * *

Narcissa and her sons arrived home shortly after leaving the bank. Narcissa led the way out of the fireplace in the Manor's parlor, mindlessly patting down the green flames on her shoulders.

Preoccupied with the soot on her cloak, Narcissa didn't realize that her husband and a visitor were in the parlor. It wasn't until the older gentleman that looked just like Lucius spoke.

"Hello, Narcissa, dear," Abraxas Malfoy said in a silky voice.

Narcissa's head shot up, somewhat startled but that all was eclipsed with a smile as she made her way towards her father-in-law to greet him. "How've you been?" she asks, welcoming him with a cheek kiss.

"I've been well," says the older Malfoy in response. His eyes then glaze past Narcissa and catch the sight of his grandsons, offering a tight smile upon seeing them. "Hello, Draco, hello Harry," he intones curtly.

"Hi, Grandfather," Draco replies.

"Hi, Grandfather," Harry echoes, politely and his mouth twitched between a smile and a grimace. Abraxas regards the two boys for a moment, grey eyes scanning between both but lingering a little longer on Harry before returning his attention to Lucius.

"So glad I could see you all before I head off," Abraxas tells his son.

"You're leaving already?" Narcissa asked.

The old wizard gives a single nod. "Not just yet, but soon."

"Won't you stay for dinner?" Narcissa asks. "It's been so long since your last visit here."

"I told you, Father," Lucius said, turning to his father with a look of mirth on his face. "You ought to stay at least until the evening. Narcissa'll insist you stay, as do I."

"You all do make me feel so welcome, and I am grateful for that," Abraxas begins to say with a smile. "But I can't stay long, at least not this time." Again his eyes went to Draco then to Harry.

Harry shifted a little in his spot, averting his grandfather's gaze. He loved Abraxas and respected him, but also felt greatly timid around him. Draco seemed to be more at ease whenever Abraxas was around although, a little more quiet than when he was with just his parents and brother. But Harry couldn't help but feel as though Abraxas didn't like him as much. It wasn't a fair claim for Harry to make since Abraxas never did anything to support such favoritism upon Draco. Yet Harry still felt a little insecure around the older Malfoy, perhaps because he looked so different than the whole family.

"Lucius and I just have a few things more to discuss before I head off," Abraxas elucidated. Lucius gave a nod in agreement.

"Care for anything in the meantime?" Narcissa said. "I could have Dobby bring you some tea or anything else."

"Thank you, Narcissa, but I'm alright," Abraxas told his daughter-in-law.

"If you'll excuse, dear," Lucius begins to say, beckoning his father for some privacy.

Narcissa adheres to his request as do the boys and they all bid the older Malfoy a goodbye and exit the parlor, closing the doors behind them.

"Let's go upstairs," Harry suggests to Draco.

"Let's go to my room," Draco adds and he and Harry head down the hall towards the stairs.

Narcissa watches them disappear up the stairs and makes her way towards the garden out back.

* * *

"Urgh, let's change it," Draco suggested after the radio in his room began to play an old song from Celestina Warbeck. He promptly got off his carpeted floor and immediately switched the radio to another station, which was playing an advert. "We play her too much in this house."

"Mum's the one who plays her, not us," Harry corrected, a smiling while he shuffled exploding snap cards.

Draco returned to his spot on the floor, across from Harry. "Don't shuffle them too fast, they'll burn your fingertips. Getting a bit hungry."

Harry nodded, eyes still focused on the cards he was now laying out. "Yeah, me too."

"Don't know if I can wait until dinner," Draco went on. "I think I'll ask Dobby to bring us something."

"Wait," Harry said, suddenly. Half of the stack of cards remained motionless in his hand. "He might be busy."

"He'll hear us," Draco explained, looking a little perplexed at Harry's intervention.

"Still," Harry said. "Why don't I just grab something from the kitchen? That way we don't have to bother him."

"And if Mum sees you?" Draco protested, as he had a point. Narcissa didn't approve of the boys eating in their rooms, let alone before dinner.

Still, over the past couple of years Harry only felt more sorry for Dobby. The elf was still around and their primary house elf in the Manor. During the years Dobby has been with them, there was no shortage of punishments and cruelty at least at the hands of Lucius. No one else really treated him any better, or at least like an equal. Harry then developed a habit of avoiding asking Dobby for anything or when Dobby offered his assistance, Harry was adamant about doing things on his own even if it meant doing a chore from time to time.

"She won't see me," Harry said determinedly.

Draco only cocked a brow but with Harry's insistence didn't argue any further. "If you say so."

"I'll be back, quickly," Harry told his brother, getting up from the floor and slipping out of the room quietly.

Harry treaded the stairs like a shadow, hoping not to gain anyone else's attention, least of all his mother's. To his luck, Narcissa was nowhere to be seen and even Dobby was missing from sight.

He reached the first floor landing and padded softly across the wooden surface; it helped that he was no longer wearing any shoes. Walking down the hall, he passed the parlor but he heard the voice of Abraxas. He stilled for a moment, realizing that his grandfather had not left yet.

Harry was just about to carry on but the conversation behind those doors lured his curiosity. He inched closer to the shut doors, listening carefully.

"Draco has grown to look more like you each time I see him," Abraxas was saying. "Soon I won't be able to tell the difference between you two," he laughed.

"Well I suppose it's like you and me," Lucius agreed. "You're not the first to point out the similarities nor will you be the last it seems."

"Of course not," Abraxas replied, his laughter fading. "And Harry and Draco still get along, yes?"

Harry furrowed his brows, listening on.

"Brothers to the core," Lucius murmured. "It pleases Narcissa and I that they get on well together. The two can sometimes be inseparable."

"He hasn't had any trouble lately, has he?" Abraxas asked in a hushed tone.

Harry's eyes widened. What was his grandfather implying?

"None whatsoever," came Lucius's bewildered response, much to Harry's relief.

"I mean since he's different," Abraxas went on, "than the rest of us."

Harry was utterly confused at this point. What did Abraxas mean by different? Was it his appearance Abraxas was talking about? If so it was would be strange to point out something that obvious and something that they've all been used to.

"Harry's adjusted well since we brought him home," Lucius explained. "No issue with him ever."

 _From where?_ Harry mused.

"What about when they start at Hogwarts next year?" Abraxas asked suddenly. "Surely such a difference will present murmurs among others. Wouldn't want him to feel like an outsider."

"I do not doubt there will be some that are curious as to his relation to us, but it's nothing new. Harry's always looked different than the rest of the family."

"Do you think he'll even be a Slytherin?" Abraxas asked, unsure.

"I haven't really considered that, Father," Lucius said, calmly. "Regardless, we're his family."

"I'll presume that he doesn't know then?" Abraxas said. Harry pressed his ear to the doors, heart beating fast.

"He does not," came Lucius's response.

"Do you ever plan on telling him? That he's not a Malfoy," Abraxas asked.

The last words that left Abraxas's mouth replayed in Harry's head and each time it still struck him with confusion and disbelief. Not a Malfoy. Then that would mean he was not theirs, not Lucius and Narcissa's son, not Abraxas's grandchild, not Draco's real brother? This new revelation seized Harry's mind, having him ignore the rest of Lucius and Abraxas's conversation. He turned back around and headed back towards the stairs, his appetite robbed by this devastating new reality.

Harry returned to Draco's room, meeting his brother's look of surprise and offering a halfhearted excuse as to why he came back empty handed. Harry sat back down on the floor and began to shuffle the cards, desperate for anything to distract him.

* * *

Abraxas left some time after that, he and Lucius oblivious to the fact that Harry overheard them. The evening past quickly, which Harry was grateful, as his appetite still hadn't returned. During dinner, Harry had to force himself to eat but in the end wasn't able to finish, stating that he was merely not hungry enough.

Draco took note of Harry's change in mood but Harry insisted that he was fine, only tired. He managed to fool Lucius and even Narcissa and retired to his bedroom shortly thereafter.

Now he lay in his bed, glasses removed and tucked under his blanket. Try as he did, he couldn't escape his discovery. The more he thought about it, the more it began to make sense. He did look too different from the rest of his family, not sharing a single trait or gene similar to his parents or brother. Narcissa and Lucius always claimed that he just inherited the genes of their ancestors.

In truth, there were people who would always look on with curious stares along with questions as to why Harry looked so different. He recalls times when even boys and girls his age would say that they weren't convinced that he and Draco were brothers. Draco would always respond with a confident retort that Harry was and is his brother and that his appearance did not betray that. Situations like those did make Harry feel like an outsider but with the assurance and love his family offered, he never let if affect him much.

And then there was the matter of how he and Draco were brothers but the same age. They weren't twins, as though their looks didn't already explain that. Harry felt foolish for never really questioning how he and Draco were the same age, born the same year nearly two months apart. Draco never wondered too, and it made Harry ponder as to whether Draco knew all along about him not being a Malfoy.

Harry suddenly felt like a stranger in his home and in his skin. Who was if not Harry Malfoy? He wasn't sure if his parents were ever planning on telling him as Abraxas wondered.

He remained awake until his mind finally exhausted with the burdening thoughts, allowed sleep to claim him at last.

The next few days, Harry carried on like normal. The discovery still plagued him but he didn't want his family to suspect anything. A part of him yearned to ask his parents and tell Draco what he heard. But he couldn't bring himself to confide in any of them. There was a chance that he misheard and stumbled upon the conversation without any prior context. Also he didn't have proof to support this. He was still in disbelief, in heavy denial.

Draco didn't notice anything off about Harry unlike the other night and therefore he and Harry spent their time together like they always did.

However by the fifth day, Harry's worries were taking a massive toll on him. He found himself distracted with anxiety when he was out in the garden with Draco or during mealtimes. He found it harder to play the charade as though he never heard what Abraxas and Lucius spoke about.

By that night, Harry once again found himself unable to sleep. Thankfully during these past couple of nights, his scar did not bother him. But more thoughts persisted to pollute his young mind. The conversation replayed in his head, the worries, the self-doubt, the denial, all of it weighed him down like iron.

He recalled the Goblins back at Gringotts, staring at him and the head goblin's cryptic words about keeping things hidden. Harry wondered if the goblins knew something he didn't. And then it came to him suddenly.

Frantic now, he sat up in his bed, whispering in the darkness with a sense of urgency. "Dobby? Dobby!" He didn't want to wake his family up so he kept his voice as low as he could.

In the pitch-black bedroom, Harry heard a familiar pop before finding the house elf, clad in the same rag, holding a bluebell flame in his hand, allowing Harry to see a little before he grabbed his glasses.

Dobby bowed before Harry. "Harry," he said politely. "What is it you need, sir this late in the night?"

Harry threw the covers off of himself. "Dobby, I need to speak with you."

Dobby cringed but just nodded.

"A couple of years ago," Harry started. "You said that I was famous. You said that you knew who I am."

The elf gulped, his large eyes looking worried.

"You remember don't you?" Harry went on before Dobby got a chance to speak. "What did you mean by that?"

The elf was silent, lowering his ears in fear. Harry got off his bed and on his knees, getting level with Dobby. "Please," Harry supplicated. "I know you remember. Why am I famous?"

"M—Master M—M—Malfoy," stammered Dobby, taking a step back, the bluebell flame dancing in his hand. "'Tis not my place to speak of—"

"Of what?" Harry urged, eager, but was met with silence again. Harry noticed the look of sheer worry on Dobby's scrawny face. There was something the elf knew but couldn't say, likely out of fear. Harry took a couple of deep breaths before murmuring, "I'm not a Malfoy…am I?"

Dobby's eyes, which were endlessly worried and scared, for a second looked pitiful and sympathetic. And after a long, pregnant pause, Dobby spoke, softly, indulging Harry's curiosity and fear, "No, sir, you're not from the House of Malfoy."

Harry wilted. His lips were pulled into a tight line, as the worst was true. But in a last spurt of denial, Harry requested, "I need proof. Can you bring me any?"

Dobby clearly looked hesitant, but as his duty to serve every member of the family, he obliged. Apparating out of the room, Dobby left Harry behind along with the bluebell flame.

Minutes had past when Dobby finally returned, carrying something large, rolled up in his small arms. It looked like a giant green rug. Yet before Harry could ask what it was, Dobby briefly put the roll down and used his own magic to illuminate the room just enough for their eyes to see better. Then bending down towards the rug-like roll, Dobby lifted his bandaged hands, forcing the roll to levitate in the air and then with a gesture of his right hand the thing unraveled.

It was massive. Not a rug, which Harry initially thought but a tapestry. Sewn in with gold and silver threading, was what resembled an extravagant tree with several branches and leaves. Each branch tessellating and extending in every direction and the leaves bearing pictures and names.

"What is this, Dobby?" Harry asked, eyes following the various stitching.

"The family tapestry, sir," Dobby said.

"I've never seen this before," Harry muttered more to himself but Dobby still heard.

"Aye, Mast—Harry," Dobby said. "It's been hidden…"

Harry took a closer look. The tapestry depicted names of Malfoys that Harry was not familiar with on one side. And on the other, names under the House of Black from what it read.

His eyes scanned the tapestry in silence, tracing the woven branches further and further down, until he began to recognize the names of his great-great grandparents on his mother and father's sides. Then following the branches from there he eventually found his parents, Lucius and Narcissa.

From their leaves, a branch below them held a leaf with Draco's picture and name sewn on. He also saw faintly, another branch sprouting from Lucius and Narcissa's names. The stitching was so dull and faded that Harry could have sworn it was barely there. The branch was off to the side, farther from Draco's. And the leaf on the faint branch betrayed the secret kept from him his entire life.

It was his name, but the stitching did not read Harry Malfoy.

"Harry…Potter?" Harry whispered in shock.

And from his leaf, a branch sprouted from the top splitting off into two other leaves. There he saw a man who looked strikingly like him but much older named James Potter, his real father. Harry turned to inspect the other leaf and his chest was seized with a wave of emotion. The woman, Lily Evans, was the same woman from his dreams, his mother.

He was dizzy. A part of him felt betrayed, not understanding why his parents kept this secret. He believed that their intentions were good—or he hoped.

And although it was a relief to finally know, Harry was so disappointed and in a way heartbroken. He was angry for being lied to and wondered if Draco knew all this time too. Despite the differences between he and his family, Harry always wanted to believe that he was a Malfoy. But the lingering belief that he was not a Malfoy never left him since early childhood.

He wanted to allow himself to feel angry, which he was but it was hard for him to because even though his parents never told him, they still cared about him.

Taking a deep breath Harry turned his attention away from the tapestry and back at Dobby. "How did you know who I was?"

Dobby wrung his hands. "Elv—elves, sir know. Magical creatures can sometimes see through fallacies. And…I've heard the Mistress and Master speak of you…" Dobby quivered, pulling his ears down as though regretting telling Harry that.

"But how am I famous?" Harry went on, oblivious to Dobby's current plight.

"Your—your…name," Dobby stuttered. "It's famous amongst the wizarding world."

"How so?" Harry was more desperate to know more about himself. However Harry's curiosity drained quickly as Dobby's nails dug into his own face, whilst trembling.

Harry got closer to Dobby, without thinking, grabbing the elf's thin arms and prying them to his amazement with so much exertion before he was able to restrain Dobby's arms to his side. "Stop, Dobby!" he commanded in an urgent whisper.

But the elf still quaked in Harry's hold. His large eyes looked frightened and frantic.

"Calm down," Harry encouraged, less urgency in his voice. "I'm sorry. It's—just that I need to know, I want to know."

Dobby continued to tremble. His large eyes were shut, avoiding Harry.

"Dobby—" Harry said with a mixture of a plea and demand.

"'Twas—'twas d—d—dark times," Dobby stammered, eyes still shut.

"Am I criminal?" Harry blurted out in surprise, his mind suddenly in a frenzy.

Dobby flinched at Harry's outburst, but still refused to meet the boy's eyes. "No, S—sir, you're not."

The answer made Harry relax a bit. Yet he still didn't know what he was famous for. Then his chest seized with a divide. He wasn't sure he wanted to know anymore, but at the same time was desperate to know the truth.

"H—Harry," Dobby's bleat voice said in the silence.

Harry's mind was pulled from his reverie then to look back at Dobby.

The elf's saucer-like eyes finally met Harry's and in them was also a look of plea. "I beseech you, Sir," he begged. "I should—should not have said anything. It's n—not—not my place."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry relented, partly relieved and partly dissatisfied. "Thanks, Dobby," Harry whispered his appreciation with a tight smile.

The boy turned away from the elf, away from the tapestry that bore the truth, crawling back into his bed with his glasses still on. "Goodnight, Dobby."

And a second later, Harry was alone again as Dobby vanished, along with the tapestry and flame.

* * *

Another couple of days past and since the night Harry learned the truth he hadn't spoken to anyone in his family about it. He saw Dobby a few times, but never engaged him with conversation or a simple greeting. If the elf were present at the same time he was, Harry would smile and carry on with his business. He did feel a sense of guilt for pressuring Dobby into helping him out.

He spent the days after, alone, declining some of Draco's offers to play out in the garden or in his own room. However he didn't avoid his family entirely as he didn't want to let on anything unusual was going on with him. Harry just wanted to pretend that life was the same as it was.

But it didn't feel like it. He forced his mind and heart to believe that it would take some time before he readjusted into the normal life he led. He just felt foreign and like a stranger. Each time he looked at his family, they all fit together like one large puzzle and he was just a piece that didn't belong. Abraxas's words echoed in his head, making it all the more difficult for him to let it all go.

There was a heavy weight of resentment towards his parents on his shoulders. Harry wanted to know why they didn't tell him. At times since finding out, Harry would be angry and struggled to suppress it, which was why he would run off to be alone, lest he wanted to blurt the secret out. And other times he couldn't stay angry. His parents did love him, enough to make him part of their family.

Harry was at crossroads with his feelings and eventually realized he couldn't keep it in any longer. He wanted some reassurance or even to be told that what Dobby said was untrue. But he wouldn't out Dobby no matter what, he just had to know where his parents stood on this matter.

Some time after dinner, Harry worked up the courage to seek out Lucius and Narcissa. He still didn't tell Draco only because he was unsure of how to even present the secret to his brother.

So Harry wandered downstairs and stood before the parlor doors. It was like déjà vu, only this time the doors were open and inside trivial conversation that Harry didn't bother paying much attention to were taking place.

Harry walked in quietly, getting a whiff of the tea that was in the room. He saw his mother, seated on the chaise, taking a sip from her cup. She had a smile on as she replied to something that Lucius had said. And Harry's father sat in the dark emerald armchair across Narcissa. They looked to be at ease and happy, Harry hesitated, not wanting to dampen their moods.

Though Harry was unable to retreat as Narcissa caught sight of him from the corner of her eye and turned to him, with the same warm smile she was giving Lucius. "Would you like some biscuits, sweetheart?" Narcissa gestured to the small plate of biscuits on the tea tray, which sat on the glass coffee table.

Lucius followed Narcissa's gaze and he offered a smile to Harry as well. "Didn't hear you come in," he said.

"I—I just got here," Harry responded, nervously, which did not go unnoticed by his parents.

Lucius's eyes narrowed and he shifted in his seat to fully face Harry. "Is everything alright?" he asked in his usual silky voice, though he also sounded suspicious.

Harry only became more nervous. "I…um…had something…I wanted to ask you."

"What is it, Harry?" Narcissa asked, having placed her cup on the coffee table.

Harry found it hard to meet their eyes. He was feeling reluctant now, unsure of how to ask. He was growing more scared by the second. He was afraid, as though confiding in them would only make everything more real and true.

Harry scratched his head awkwardly, still unable to get the words out of his mouth. Narcissa grew concerned.

"Harry?" Lucius said smoothly, calling his son's attention.

Harry took a deep breath. The silence became suffocating and Harry finally spoke, "Am I…adopted?"

Surprisingly, Harry managed make eye contact with both his parents.

Lucius and Narcissa froze. Narcissa's lips pursed and her heart began to pace.

When he was met with silence, Harry answered his own question. "I am, aren't I?" Harry said, though it wasn't a question to him since he already knew. But denial was ever present in his gut, and if his parents told him no then maybe the tapestry was a lie. And maybe Dobby was sorely mistaken. Somehow he knew Dobby was genuine and the tapestry was not a trick.

"How—?" Narcissa began to say, rising from her seat.

"Yes," Lucius interjected smoothly, gaining Harry's attention. He too got to his feet.

Harry's eyes fell to the floor. "So I'm not your son," he muttered, feeling foolish and angry but mostly shattered.

"Not by blood, Harry but that does not dismiss that you are part of this family," Lucius told Harry.

Harry's head shot up, facing his father with a sense of yearning. Narcissa was bewildered at Lucius's words, not sure to fully believe them.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked.

Narcissa crouched down, placing a comforting hold on Harry's shoulders. "We're sorry," she told him, eyes glistening with regret and love. Harry looked at his mother, her sincerity convincing him that they did truly love him. "It's just— you were so young when you lost your birth parents."

Lucius got on one knee, meeting Harry and Narcissa at the same level. "You were a baby, when I found you. Orphaned and barely a year old. I didn't know where you'd go."

Harry was listening intently, his heart hammering in his chest.

"And your mother and I thought we should take you, raise you, along with Draco."

"Draco doesn't know?" Harry interrupted.

Lucius shook his head. "No, not yet at least."

"What happened to my birth parents?" Harry asked.

Narcissa's heart was gripped with pity, the same feeling that convinced her to take Harry under her wing in the first place. "They are no longer alive."

"Murdered," Lucius corrected, much to Narcissa's bewilderment. She didn't comprehend how he was able to speak so nonchalantly. Even more amazing was how so far he was being honest, though leaving out major details such as Harry's sole reason for living with them.

Harry's eyes widened and his face blanched. "By who?" his voice had gotten louder and more demanding. "Who killed them?"

Narcissa held her breath, exchanging looks with her husband.

"A dark wizard, Harry," Lucius elucidated finally.

"Someone who practices Dark Arts?" Harry asked, confused. "But—you practice it."

Lucius's face did not waver. "Yes, my son. I do it for my own and our family's protection. To rise against others we must understand their techniques."

"But he's gone now, darling," Narcissa urged, gripping Harry's shoulders tightly, commanding his attention. Her stomach lurched in denial, but if she couldn't convince herself then she'd assure Harry that he was safe.

"That's why I've always been different," Harry exclaimed. "Why Draco and I look different."

"Yes, but it changes nothing, Harry," Lucius said. "Your still a Malfoy, our son, and a brother to Draco. We love and care for you, Harry."

Harry felt his eyes prick with tears behind his glasses. He was still hurt and angry at having been lied to, but his parents were being honest with him now. And they ensured him of their love.

Lucius rubbed Harry's head with subdued affection, but Harry was still touched by it.

"We love you, Harry," Narcissa said, grabbing a hold of Harry's face gently all while feeling criminal inside. "Always, know that," she spoke from her heart and Harry smiled at her meekly, his shoulders sagging.

And although it seemed things were resolved, much to Naricissa's hope, she knew better. She caught a glimpse of her husband, and through his mask of apathy, she could tell that his mind had not changed and the fallacy would only continue.

With their reassurance, Harry chose not to mention that he knew who is actual parents were or rather their names and faces as well as his biological family name. He was happy knowing that he was still loved.

During the entire exchange however, hiding in the shadows behind the slightly open door to the parlor was Draco, having heard everything.

Later when Harry made his way back to his bedroom for the night, his faith renewed he found his brother, Draco standing outside his door waiting.

"Draco?" Harry said.

"They're right," came the blond boy's response, robbing Harry from the rest of his words. "It doesn't change anything."

Harry cocked a brow, and then a moment later his face morphed into shock. "You know, how?"

"I overheard," explained Draco. "It's a surprise but it explains why we look different and why we're both born the same year," he chuckled, his mirth infecting Harry who was now smiling. "We're still brothers."

"Brothers," Harry concurred looking content and happy as he had been before all this.

* * *

After Harry left, Narcissa shut the parlor doors quietly and for better measure cast a silencing charm. She was grateful that Harry didn't know the whole truth as to how he came to them. She was even more grateful that Lucius was able to convince Harry that he was indeed their son. It was a fact that she truly believed and felt in her bones.

Blood or not, Harry was her son just as much as Draco is. But she felt sickened with herself for not having the courage to be fully honest with him, but she hoped that he would never have to know the truth of how he became a Malfoy.

Narcissa turned to her husband, eyes suddenly ablaze with worry. "What if he suspects something more, Lucius?" she hissed in a hushed tone, despite the use of the silencing charm.

Lucius maintained a mask of indifference, completely unfazed by it all. "We didn't tell him how we found him," he explained. "Harry didn't ask more about his birth parents. It's not as though we lied."

Narcissa withered in distress. "I—I think it'd been better if we didn't admit to it."

Lucius approached his wife, his calm demeanor still in place. "He's no fool, dear. Or else he would not have asked. It would have come up eventually, either from him or Draco."

"But how did he find out?" Narcissa asked, more herself than Lucius. She hated lying to Harry but in this moment felt that it would have been better continuing with the falsehood.

"I wouldn't dwell on that, Narcissa," Lucius assured her. "It was likely something that had ailed him for a while now. But we've assured him of his place with us. He didn't seem bothered as he did when he first stepped in here." He smiled, as though that fact alone would dispel Narcissa's fears.

"It's been years, Lucius," Narcissa said, her voice wavering. "Nine to be precise."

"There's still a chance—" Lucius began to say, knowing what she was getting at.

Narcissa's eyes darkened. "Why can't you abandon that possibility?" she snapped. The irony of the demand not lost on Narcissa as she too pondered the Dark Lord's whereabouts.

"Because it's still a possibility. He will return. We are his followers." He looked at his wife who glowered back at him. "Nothing changes," he echoed the same words he told Harry just moments ago, self-assured.

"I don't care, Lucius. I don't care if he does come back," Narcissa spat almost near frustration. "Harry doesn't deserve what he's been set for. He's our son, mine _and_ yours."

Lucius's eyes narrowed and with cold resolution answered, "For now he is. But the charade _will_ end once the Dark Lord reappears."

* * *

 **A/N:** So I rewrote this chapter to eliminate the whole mention of the scar, though not entirely. The readers who reviewed brought a valid point as to how everyone in the wizarding world knew about Harry's scar. In canon, it's never really disclosed, which is why I didn't think too much about it at the time I wrote the original draft. But I was influenced to scrap it; but of course Harry's scar still plays an important role.


	3. A Forgery?

_One Year Later…_

Magic often made things much easier. The convenience of it was valued just as much as its power. Mundane tasks were shortened with a simple charm, something that Muggles were not fortunate enough to benefit from.

But even the convenience of magic could not take the role of checking the Book of Admittance for incoming Hogwarts students.

Minerva McGonagall's role as Deputy Head at Hogwarts meant that she was responsible for checking the book for the newest batch of magical children to be admitted into Hogwarts.

After reaching the tower where the sacred book was stored away in, Minerva began poring over the list of names, effortlessly waving her wand to create sealed letters with the names of the children she read; each name on the book crossed off once a letter was made for him or her.

Minerva had begun checking the names at the end of spring, and it was now July and she still had a long list of boys and girls that had yet to receive their letters.

She sighed, removing her glasses, taking a break from her work. She shut her eyes for a few minutes, letting them recover from the strain of reading so many names.

Once she felt herself sinking into her chair, the old witch sat up, correcting her posture and opened her eyes. She was not done yet.

She carried on with her duty for the next hour, another hundred of names were soon crossed off and at long last it seemed that a dent was beginning to appear in the list as it dwindled down in numbers, much to Minerva's relief.

"Now, Draco Malfoy," Minerva murmured, waving her wand as a fresh sheet of parchment was coated with the admittance message before being tucked away in a sealed envelope.

A dash struck across the name, marking it as complete. Minerva then moved to the next one beneath Draco's name.

"Harry," she whispered absentmindedly. "Mal…Malfoy?" Minerva's brow pinched and she sat back in her chair, putting a pause to her work once more.

"Harry Malfoy," her voice intoned, the name sounding wrong when said aloud.

She stared at the name, partially in disbelief but mostly in disapprobation. She held her wand in her hand, hovering it above the book and said clearly, "Aparecium".

Her eyes glowered at the name, but nothing happened. She tried again, "Scriptum revelio." Nothing. "Revelio," she said louder as though admonishing the book.

Again nothing happened. _Harry Malfoy_ remained unchanged and innocent before the witch's narrowed eyes. Despite its legibility, Minerva was still pricked with pique.

Minerva huffed and with a flick of her wand, the boy's name was crossed off, his letter sealed and ready to be sent. She went on with the list, swiftly until at long last she had gone through the book, whilst keeping a sharp eye out for anything else peculiar.

She got up from her seat, eyeing the stacks of letters that she made. All were ready to be sent by owl. Minerva shut the book, waved her wand for the letters to disappear and made her way out of the tower.

Before she could take it easy for the rest of the evening, Minerva wanted to pay a gargoyle a visit.

* * *

Lucius was always an early riser. Regardless of what he had planned for the day, the man was always awake before the rest of his family, every single morning.

This morning was no different as the blond wizard disappeared into his parlor, shutting the doors gently.

Since the fall of the Dark Lord, Lucius and his family have led an easy and financially fruitful life. He always had and was lucky enough to return to such an easy life, being part of the social wizarding elite, where he and father made more money off of property investments and having an influence over members of the Ministry of Magic.

Stirring his spoon in the tea that Dobby brought him, Lucius looked to the opened window in his parlor. He watched the darkness pale slowly, his mind unfurling.

How much longer until the Dark Lord returns? He wasn't sure these days especially after so many years. He set his cup of tea down on his desk and rolled up his sleeve. The Dark Mark on his right arm was still there of course, it was never going to vanish. Curiously, Lucius ran a finger along the skull of the tattoo, only feeling the ghostly touch of his own.

The Mark did not move nor spur any sensation that normally would have happened during the reign of the Dark Lord. Lucius could've sworn over time the Mark had flattened and become paler. Were those signs that his leader was long gone after all?

He didn't think so.

He sauntered over to a small black vault that he kept in the corner of the room on the highest part of the bookshelf. The vault was heavily warded in the event of someone trying to find something inside.

He lifted the wards to allow himself access inside. And inside was one item, a small black leather diary. Reaching in to grab it, Lucius turned the book in his hand, flipping through its pages to find nothing written in them. It was something he was entrusted to keep by the Dark Lord himself.

 _"_ _You will plant this diary at Hogwarts," hissed Lord Voldemort. "On my orders. Until then keep it hidden, away from sight."_

Lucius recalled the moment in clarity. Maybe this could bring him back… he mused for a moment until he heard the fluttering of wings and turned to the opened window.

The sky was a little brighter now even with grey clouds. And on the windowsill was a plump brown owl, holding envelopes in its beak.

Meeting the owl, Lucius plucked the envelopes reading for the recipients: Draco Malfoy and Harry Malfoy.

"Ah," he intoned. The envelopes did look familiar, or he thought but had briefly forgotten. His sons would be heading into Hogwarts this September. Draco had just turned eleven in the previous month and Harry's birthday was a week away.

With the envelopes still in his hand, he stared at the diary in the other, considering something.

Maybe the diary could enter Hogwarts at last. Lucius wondered…

 _"_ _On my orders."_

No. Not yet. Not until he returns and can instruct Lucius himself. With a sigh, the man returned the diary in its hiding place, securing the wards again, locking it away until the time comes.

* * *

"Pardon my intrusion, Mistress Malfoy, but Master Malfoy had instructed me to give these to the young Sirs during breakfast." Dobby reappeared a couple minutes into breakfast (that he prepared) with a silver tray holding the envelopes Lucius received earlier.

Narcissa and her sons turned to Dobby and she retrieved the letters from Dobby. Recognizing what they were, Narcissa smiled ruefully and then handed each envelope to Draco and Harry.

"Our letters!" Draco said, enthused, shooting Harry a look.

Harry beamed in response and gently tore past the seal. He read the letter to himself.

 _Dear Mr. Malfoy…_

"Just in time for birthday, Harry," Draco said having already set his letter down in favor of spooning his porridge.

Harry nodded, still reading the list of supplies he'd need. "There's a lot of stuff we need."

"It's a standard list of supplies for new students," Narcissa explained. "Most of the things you need you can use year after year."

"A wand," Harry mused with interest. There was a spark in his eye. He couldn't wait to start practicing magic. And he especially was thrilled that he had gotten his Hogwarts letter.

Since finding out of his adoption, Harry did think about his biological parents from time to time. After initially finding out, he was desperate to know as much as possible, but didn't want to ask Lucius and Narcissa.

Eventually he stopped wondering for a while, content with how his life had not changed and how his relationships with his family stayed the same.

It wasn't until about a month ago when the subject of Hogwarts was brought up during one afternoon.

Abraxas had visited briefly, talking of how Harry and Draco were near the age in which they'd leave for Hogwarts.

And with the topic brought up and the appearance of Abraxas, Harry relived the moment when he overheard his grandfather utter those words, " _that he's not really a Malfoy?"_

Suddenly Harry was burdened with questions about his parents; questions that he kept to himself. Were his parents even magic folk? Were the Potters a wizarding family? He wasn't so certain but he felt that they must've been. After all he'd experience his own bouts of magic from time to time.

With this letter in his hands, it was all the proof he needed that he has magical blood.

"It going to be weird," Harry mused aloud. He set down his letter. "I'm excited but we're going to be with so many other kids." He was speaking to Draco now.

Draco shrugged. It was going to be a change. They did engage with other wizarding children from time to time but Hogwarts was going to be on a different level.

"It'll be fun," Narcissa chimed in. "You'll two still have each other."

"In Slytherin," Draco added.

Harry's brows furrowed, ruminating on that. His green eyes met Narcissa's and as though she read his mind, she assured, "Or anywhere else."

Harry smiled.

* * *

On the morning of Harry's birthday, the family set out to Diagon Alley to get the supplies both Draco and Harry needed upon Lucius's suggestion.

Harry didn't mind. He was content spending it with his family as well as preparing for when he went off to Hogwarts.

Their first stop was to get fitted for robes, much to Harry's surprise. "We have to wear these on the train?" he had asked, looking a little bored as the tailor had him stretch out his arm for the dozenth time.

Harry was normally patient but getting fitted for clothing wasn't something he enjoyed doing on any given day. But he and his brother endured it as the rest of the day promised to be smooth.

After getting their robes, the Malfoys headed into Ollivander's to get wands for Harry and Draco.

This was the exciting part of their trip for both boys.

"Let Harry, as it's his birthday," Lucius suggested when Ollivander the wandmaker asked who wanted to go first.

Harry had butterflies in his stomach up until this moment. All morning he couldn't believe that he was finally getting a wand. His nerves were beginning to eclipse his excitement, which he thought was silly. Yet he still couldn't keep the nerves at bay and he felt his palms begin to sweat as Ollivander selected a wand and delicately handed it to him.

The aged wandmaker waited for him with a smile. Harry felt a weight rest in his right hand where the thin wand was (fir, if Harry remembers correctly with a dragon core). Even though this was his first wand he's held, Harry is overwhelmed with the magical energy he feels, and stands frozen, stare affixed to the fir wand.

A moment passes and Harry looks up towards Ollivander whose patience has not wavered. With a nod, Ollivander silently beckons Harry to try the wand out.

With the new weight in his hand still present, Harry twists his wrist elegantly (tries to) just like he's seen his mother do with her wand. And a loud crack emits from the wand's tip with red sparks, startling everyone and causing Harry to drop the wand in his surprise.

Harry immediately makes a grab for it, an apology pouring out his mouth.

"All's forgiven," Ollivander chuckles, taking the wand back with both hands. "We can rule this one out, though."

"Do they all explode on the first try?" Draco asked, looking up at his father. "Or is it just with Harry?"

"Very funny," Harry said dryly, smiling despite his racing heart.

"Trial and error, Harry," Lucius assured his son.

"That's correct," came Ollivander's voice as he disappeared into an aisle of shelves. When he returned he handed Harry a new wand, made of pear wood, much thinner, lighter with a unicorn heartstring at its core.

Much like the previous wand, this one too felt heavy in Harry's hand. When he flicked his wrist, nothing happened. Harry's brows knitted in a frown. Once more he waved the wand but nothing happened. Turning to Ollivander, the old man shrugged. "This one must be stubborn."

Harry tried again, and again, nothing happened still. And Ollivander dismissed the wand, taking it back, assuring Harry, "Don't take it personally but this wand doesn't think you're right for it."

Draco snickered. But Harry and Ollivander ignored him.

"The wand chooses the wizard," Ollivander reminded.

A couple of more tries, wands varying in size and shifting from unicorn and dragon cores, Harry can't help but feel a little more anxious now.

"Don't be so worried, Harry," Draco said, no longer teasing his brother, but now reassuring him. "The one that chooses you is here."

"Consider this one a hunch," Ollivander murmurs, though Harry's unsure if he was talking to him or the wand before handing it off.

This one was the longest so far, made of holly, Harry thinks that's what Ollivander told him. At this point he feels as though he's tried every kind of wood.

The wand in his hand does have weight, but this one almost balances him. Before giving it a whirl, Harry feels like there's some bond between him and this wand already.

"You know what to do," Lucius prompted.

He waved his wand and he was relieved that the movement felt fluid; not realizing that the magic it produced was simple, delicate flurries appearing and disappearing.

Ollivander stared at him curiously. "My boy how does that wand feel?"

"Warm," came Harry's response. "In a good way. It's more comfortable than the others."

Ollivander nodded. "It's drawn to you, much like how all wands are to their owners."

"What did you say its core was?" Harry asked.

"I didn't," Ollivander replied. "It's got a phoenix feather as its core. Very rare, and it…has a brother."

"A broth—" Harry began.

"My turn, yes?" Draco interrupted him, stepping past him.

Harry looked up at Ollivander to understand what he meant, but the old man kindly started making his selections for Draco's wand.

* * *

It was the final night on the homestead and late at night. Lucius had retreated to the parlor like he did most nights to get some work done. Dobby was finishing up some chores, and Narcissa had just left Draco's room after finding he had fallen asleep at his desk.

After she had coaxed him to move to his bed ("Love you, Draco," she had said. "You too," Draco yawned) she went down the hall and found that the door to Harry's bedroom was cracked open and there was light.

She pushed past the door, eyes meeting Harry's as he looked up. He was sat on his bed, holding his wand with both hands when he saw his mother wander in.

"I thought you had gone to sleep," she mused; it was not a reprimand; she was just surprised.

Harry scoot over, allowing his mom to settle on the edge of his bed. "Was about to."

Narcissa looked down at Harry's wand and back at him. "Took many other wands to find that one, yeah?"

"It's weird," Harry said. "Whenever I hold this, I can feel the magic."

"Something to get used to," Narcissa said. "You're ready. It's an exciting time."

Harry sighed, smiling, but Narcissa could tell that it was somewhat forced.

"Nervous?"

"I don't know," Harry whispered. "I just…it's all going to be different. It's a big change."

Narcissa nodded. "Change isn't always bad, scary yes, but a lot of times it can be wonderful."

When Harry stayed quiet, Narcissa continued to reassure him. "You'll get to learn so many fascinating things, make plenty of friends, you and Draco can finally have a chance to play Quidditch, and you'll fall in love with the food."

Harry smiled, but there was still something bothering him.

"What is it, Harry?" Narcissa reached a hand out, brushing his fringe to the side to get a better look at him.

"Draco and I are different," came Harry's response, much to Narcissa's surprise.

"Hardly," Narcissa laughed. "You two have the exact same interests—"

"I mean how we look."

"Well…yes"

"I don't want to confuse anyone when we say we're brothers."

"That's no one's business, Harry," Narcissa said firmly. She couldn't help the slight bite in her response, but it wasn't directed towards Harry. The woman had tried for years to ignore the stark difference Harry had in their family, especially when compared to Draco. Of course with each passing year, Harry couldn't look more different and there wasn't anything they could do about it. Not that Narcissa would want to.

"Sorry, Mum," Harry said. "It's just we are different because well…I'm adopted. But I don't know, I s'pose I'm nervous being around others and hearing them—"

"Don't be sorry, sweetheart. I understand." Narcissa hated this subject. She hated being reminded that Harry was not theirs—not hers. She hated that Harry knew he was adopted. She hated the circumstances that brought him into their family. And she hated herself for lying to Harry and Draco. She was still lying; she didn't think she could ever tell Harry the truth.

"If anyone gives you trouble, tell a teacher, straightaway," Narcissa told him, swallowing the guilt once more. "But I don't think you have to worry, dear."

Harry knew he she was right. He felt ridiculous for being worried about how others would react to discovering that he and Draco are brothers. They are, after all, no matter how anyone saw it, since Harry and Draco and their family saw the two as related.

It was just Harry was too used to being compared to Draco by others. He had heard murmurs of being so different from the family, and receiving odd looks from other children when he and Draco told them they were brothers. Even after discovering he was adopted, Harry recalled Abraxas and Lucius's conversation the day he found out, how Lucius was certain people would be curious and Abraxas who seemed a little worried about it too. And then came the subject of where he'd be sorted.

"Was everyone in our family in Slytherin?" Harry asked, looking up at his mother.

Narcissa shook her head. "No. And there was nothing wrong with that either." _Lies_ , a voice hissed in her head but she ignored it. "Your father's side, however, were all in Slytherin." She waited and watched for Harry's reaction but he just nodded slowly, his eyes looking as though he were thinking.

"So…any other House would be alright, then? For me, I mean."

"If you're not in Slytherin, we're not going to be angry. You belong where you belong."

"Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor? They're all okay—"

"Yes, Harry. Yes. I know you may have felt like an outsider and I'm sorry if there was more we could have done to prevent that. But I mean it, always, when we say that we love you. Regardless if you look like Draco or not related to us by blood. Don't let the differences make you feel otherwise, okay?" Her voice was soft and there was a distinct tone of supplication.

"You didn't do anything to make me feel like an outsider," Harry started, feeling bad for his mother expressing guilt that he felt was misplaced. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm still just getting used to the whole adopted thing."

A beat went by and Harry felt a little more at ease. He was glad that he was able to express this to his mother before he left. He had been fine since last year but once the Hogwarts letters arrived, the worries polluted his mind constantly.

"Still nervous?" his mother asked.

"Just butterflies," Harry responded with a smile. He pulled the blanket of his bed off and turned to his mother once more. "I'll miss you, Mum."

Narcissa smiled down at him affectionately, wrapping her arms around him, which Harry reciprocated. "And I, you and Draco. But I want you two to have fun, make friends. We'll be here when you return."

Harry nodded against his mother's shoulder. Once apart, Harry took off his glasses and settled into his bed. Narcissa headed for the door. "I love you, Harry. Goodnight."

"Love you, Mum."

* * *

It was nearly eleven o'clock and the train would be leaving soon. Draco and Harry made it to the platform in good time, about to board. Narcissa and Lucius accompanied the boys for this momentous occasion.

"It's nearly time, boys," Narcissa said as the remaining students scurried about the platform. "I want you two to send an owl after the first week, alright? Let us know how you're adjusting."

Harry and Draco nodded.

"Don't get into any mischief, either," Lucius warned. "Mind yourselves there."

"Right," Draco said.

"Alright," Harry agreed.

The train hissed more, the patrons making a final call for passengers. Lucius and Narcissa both gave their sons hugs goodbye, ushering them onto the train's steps.

Lucius and Narcissa, along with other parents watched the locomotive begin to move, more smoke hissed. Once Harry, Draco and the other students were tucked away on the train and out of sight, the platform began to clear out.

"You won't be lonely at the Manor, will you?" Lucius asked, grey eyes still ahead. He wrapped a hand around Narcissa's shoulder.

Narcissa smiled, ruefully. "I'll adapt," she sighed. She held her hands together, tightly in secret prayer, hoping inwardly that Harry and Draco would have fun and that Harry would be safe, under Dumbledore's watch.

Her mind rampant was with trepidation as it had been the past few weeks.

Lucius claimed that it was empty-nest syndrome that Narcissa was falling victim to. And although the woman couldn't argue that entirely, but there was always much more keeping her on edge.

 _No surprises, please_ , her mind begged.

* * *

The train left the platform on time, already en route to Hogwarts and Harry and Draco had yet to even sit down.

They wandered up the train, trying to find somewhere to settle. But each compartment they passed was already full of students; some hadn't even sat yet, but were all trying to organize their trunks in chaos.

So they carried on further up the train, dragging their stuff along. Draco eventually grew impatient and dashed ahead of Harry, peeking into each compartment, until he finally found one empty.

"Harry, here's one," the blond boy said turning to face his brother.

While Harry was catching up, Draco slid the door open having not noticed someone was about to slip inside, bumping shoulders with Draco.

The boy had red hair and looked a bit nervous. When Harry reached them, he noticed that the boy must have been in search of somewhere to sit too.

"C'mon," Harry urged Draco and the redheaded boy. "Let's go inside."

The red-haired boy looked down, squeezing past Draco and taking a seat farthest from the door and settled so close to the window. Draco, who had yet to say a word, followed, brows furrowed as he sat across from the boy but closer to the door.

And Harry took the seat across from the boy, next Draco.

It was silent for the next couple of minutes save for the sound of the train moving. The stranger took turns staring at the window and stroking something in his hand.

"What's that thing?" Draco spoke up, breaking the tension.

The redhead, looked up. "It's my rat. Scabbers."

"That's cool," Harry mused, watching the rat, lounging in the boy's hand.

The boy, however, shrugged. "Not really, he's sort of pathetic."

"Why keep him around then?" Draco said.

"He's been in my family forever," the redhead replied. "Handed down to me by my brothers, and he's my friend."

"You've got brothers? Are they still going to Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

"No, well, I have three that are still student, and two that are grown."

"Blimey, big family," came Draco's reply. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," the boy responded a little irritably. "Ron, Weasley."

"Oh, I've heard that name before. All redheads? Big family, it makes sense now. Right Harry? Dad's mentioned them before."

"Uh, I've heard of the Weasleys," Harry answered, feeling uncomfortable at how blunt his brother was being.

"So then what's your name?" Ron asked Draco, not needing to ask for Harry's since his brother had just addressed him.

"Draco Malfoy, this is my brother, Harry," Draco answered with pride.

Ron looked between the two, making Harry feel even more uncomfortable. "You don't—I never would have guessed."

"We're not blood related," Draco interjected almost defensively, already aware of the confusion Ron had. "But we're still brothers."

Ron nodded, not bothering to ask any more questions.

"Where are your brothers?" Harry asked. "The three you said still go to Hogwarts?"

"Oh," Ron intoned, now he looked a little uncomfortable. "Percy's been assigned Prefect and he's been wandering the train with the other Prefects, doing whatever it is that they do. And Fred and George…they didn't want me to sit with them." Ron's face blushed at the admission, his eyes looking away.

"That's okay," Harry assured him. "We're fine with you sitting with us." He and Ron both smiled, while Draco looked a little disinterested, but said nothing.

After a while the trolley full of sweets arrived at their compartment, easing the awkward tension among the boys. After having their pick, they all began to open up.

"Do you like Quidditch?" Ron asked, the head of the chocolate frog in his mouth.

"Yeah," Harry answered enthusiastically. "Draco and I both can't wait to give it a go. If they'll let first years."

"You a good player?" Draco asked Ron, breaking a piece of fudge to give to Harry.

"Not sure," Ron said. "I play some with my brothers, Fred and George, they're actually on the Gryffindor team."

"As what?" Harry asked with interest, handing Draco a licorice wand.

"Beaters."

"Oh, wicked," said Harry looking at Draco who shrugged. "One my our favorite beaters plays for Ireland and—"

Harry stopped when a girl pulled the compartment door open, peeking in, paying no mind to the three boys staring at her in puzzlement.

"Can we help you?" Draco's voice deadpanned grabbing the girl with bushy hair's attention.

"Yes," she said, looking at them. "Have you seen a toad? Neville said he lost his."

"No toads, here," Ron said.

"All right, then," the girl said, stepping inside the compartment. "You should all change into your robes. Since we're First Years, we're going to be entering the castle after everyone else."

"How do you know we're first years?" Ron asked. "And who are you? You sound like a Prefect."

"Please, it's not hard to pick out a first year," the girl chuckled. "And my name is Hermione."

"Thank you, Hermione…" Draco began sarcastically. "But I assume you have a toad to look for so…"

Hermione tilted her head at him, eyes narrowing. "See you at the castle then." Hermione disappeared soon after.

"How long until we're actually there?" Ron asked, looking out the window.

"Dunno, but maybe we should change into our robes now," suggested Harry.

* * *

It was dark by the time the train stopped. Harry, Draco, Ron, and the other first years were led away from the older students.

They trekked onto the uneven terrain of the forest, eventually stopping at the shoreline of a black lake. The ancient castle resided just ahead.

It was customary for first years to take this route to Hogwarts, a tradition as the giant, Hagrid mentioned. Harry tried to ignore the stares Hagrid tossed at him, distracting himself with the boat ride and the beauty of the castle at night.

And after they had returned to dry land, the first years were escorted into the castle. Harry and Ron gawked at the interior from the staircases that moved and seemed to have endless floors, to the massive space before the Great Hall. There, a witch, Prof. McGonagall, explained to them that they were to soon be sorted into their houses but left the first years outside the Great Hall for the time being.

Gradually, noise began to fill the castle, floating upwards and bouncing off walls, corridors and pillars.

"The welcome feast is the best part," Ron said as they all waited. "Starts after we're sorted."

"Gryffindor, yeah?" Harry asked Ron. "Since most of your family's in Gryffindor."

"I guess—"

"Not always," Hermione chimed in. "It isn't unusual to be sorted into different houses than your relatives."

"But it's more likely to happen," Ron said with grit teeth.

"Yeah, our whole family's been in Slytherin," Draco replied, agreeing with Ron's logic.

"Slytherin?" Ron grimaced at the name and looked at Harry.

Harry nodded. "Our parents were sorted into Slytherin when they went here." _Not sure about my real parents, though_ , Harry mused. He still knew nothing about them. He wanted to learn more, but put his curiosity to rest, at least for the time being. But still, he wondered if that's why he didn't think Slytherin was the best fit for him.

"Reckon you might be in Slytherin then," Ron muttered.

"Problem with Slytherin, Ron?" Draco said. "The best witches and wizards come from there."

"Not true," Ron scoffed.

"Merlin, ever heard of him?" Draco retorted.

"Draco, relax," Harry told his brother, nudging him. "It's no big deal."

"Whatever you say," Draco huffed just as the doors to the Great Hall opened.

Professor McGongall reappeared urging them all to queue up and walk inside.

Draco walked on ahead with some of the other students, while Harry and Ron entered at each other's side. "You two are too different for brothers."

Harry bit his lip; he was worried someone would point it out. But he liked Ron so he said nothing.

The Great Hall was something special. The ceilings were bewitched to look like the night sky outside, making the room even bigger.

Candles were floating just below the ceiling, and long tables flanked their path with older students.

They all reached the end, just before another long table full of teachers and the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

The sorting hat was motionless on the stool at the front of the hall. To Harry's surprise, the hat started singing before becoming dormant once more. It wasn't until McGonagall began calling names did the hat come back to life.

Down the list people were called and sorted and each time a house got a new member, the table would cheer and welcome them warmly. Hermione was eventually called and her eyes widened with nerves when she took her seat. Not too long afterwards, Hermione was inducted into Gryffindor House.

Then came Draco's name. Harry watched his brother who merely ghosted to the front, taking a seat. But barely placed on his head, the Sorting Hat shouted, "Slytherin!"

Harry wasn't surprised and as Draco made his way towards the Slytherin table, a look of triumph and pride on his young face, Harry wondered if that was where he was headed.

"Slytherin always turn out dark witches and wizards," Ron muttered to Harry.

Harry shifted in his spot uncomfortably. Now that the moment was nigh, Harry really wasn't sure he belonged in Slytherin. It doesn't feel right, he mused.

More people were called up and sorted; Ron was then called and put into Gryffindor, easily much to the redhead's relief. Other students succeeded after him, going to Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin.

"Harry Malfoy," McGonagall's voice called and Harry felt his heart sink to stone. He didn't feel ready. But like his parents said, it didn't matter where he went.

He stepped up and made eye contact with McGonagall who looked to be scrutinizing him, though Harry must've imagined it.

The hat fell over his eyes, much too large for him to see, which made him feel a little better as he no longer could see anyone. A light voice spoke into Harry's ears, so quiet that those unbidden to hear could not listen.

"Difficult…" the Hat mused. "You have promise of power, and there's also bravery there. Ambition too, which is perfect for Slytherin—"

"No," Harry whispered suddenly. "Uh—I—"

"Not Slytherin?" the Hat, sounded surprised. "Great things may lye ahead for you there, yet."

"No," Harry repeated. "I'm not meant to be there." When the Hat was placed on him, Harry was suddenly hit with realization. He didn't belong in Slytherin. He couldn't explain it, but what Ron said about the house turning out Dark wizards made him uneasy. His father, Lucius was a Slytherin and dabbled with the Dark Arts. He always expressed his aversion to them. "Anywhere else."

"Are you sure?" the Hat asked. "Not in Slytherin, then…Gryffindor!"

The Hat was pulled off his head and his ears were met with applause and his eyes met Ron's at the Gryffindor table, grinning and gesturing him to come over.

Harry hopped off the stool clumsily, rushing to the Gryffindor table not realizing that Draco looked onwards with confusion and disappointment.

* * *

"It's a work of dark magic, Albus." Minerva McGonagall was in the headmaster's office along with Severus Snape. After the sorting and the feast, everyone retired to their dorms. But Minerva wanted to meet with Dumbledore once more about the same issue she noticed weeks ago.

"I tried changing his name on the letter, and on the list. But something wasn't letting me. His very name is a forgery."

"It's the boy's actual name, Minerva," Snape explained.

Minerva shot him a look. "Oh? But he's not theirs, Severus. I even tried writing his true name myself with my own hand and where Potter was written became Malfoy in a second."

"Minerva," Dumbledore spoke calmly. "It's like we discussed when you brought up the Book of Admittance, his name is binding, legally."

"By dark magic," Minerva supplied. "It's wrong."

"There's nothing we can do," Severus said. "At the very least the boy can live his life in privacy. Could you imagine if everyone knew who he was? He'd inherit his father's ego—both his fathers." Snape rolled his eyes.

"Everyone does know who he is," Minerva bit back. "The world will eventually begin to wonder where he is now; they'll wonder if he's at Hogwarts."

"The Dark Lord is gone," Severus stated. "There aren't any spies searching for him."

"You forget that his very family are supporters."

"I'm aware, as is the headmaster. But after—"

"Don't bring that up," Minerva interrupted angrily, knowing fully what he was referring to. "That was fraudulent and underhanded—"

"Minerva, Serverus." Dumbledore's voice, gentle and calm, but with firmness put an end to the argument. "Minerva, I'm sorry to say, but Severus is correct. At this time at least there's nothing we can do. But we won't stop trying. And Severus", Dumbledore's expression became even more grim. "I'm afraid I don't believe Voldemort is gone."

* * *

AN: Hello~~ So I've rewritten the last two chapters. Sorry for the hiatus but the past two chapters were bugging me and I couldn't bring myself to continue with the story when I was unhappy with how it was written. So I've made a few changes. I hope to get to work on the next chapter soon~~


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